


Aptitude for Greatness

by noobieninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Divergent AU, Eventual Smut, First chapter is plot stuff, M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, so the rating will change when that happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noobieninja/pseuds/noobieninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows Sam and Dean through adolescence and their struggles. Trying to figure out a way to accept themselves and each other when they're too different and too alike; when they're separated for a time; when they're in the midst of a war together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Parentals

**Author's Note:**

> people are gonna be mad at me for making a new fic aren't they :;(∩´﹏`∩);:
> 
> i promise to try and get back to heart murmur asap, but school and work have been crazy!! and i've been reading the divergent trilogy recently and i just
> 
> wow perf
> 
> i need to get the third book though omg (￣◇￣;) i just finished insurgent and i'm
> 
> ugh
> 
> but nevertheless, i have big plans for this fic, unlike heart murmur. i'm really excited for this one, guys! (´∀`)

Before her, John never felt out of place in Abnegation. He never minded the monotony, the gray clothes, the plain haircut, the very few sightings of his own face. He felt rather at home in his father’s modest abode, getting average grades and being a generally average person. He went to church, he volunteered on the weekends, because that’s what he was told to do. 

But then _she_ found him – and he was so convinced that she was sent to him by God, she had to be an angel. She was too beautiful, too amazing to be human. 

Her name was Mary, and she was in Dauntless. She had a few subtle tattoos, and he marveled at them with his fingers clumsy and his eyes wide. She was so brave, just like she was born to be. Intelligent, clever, and quick to defend those she felt deserved to be defended. 

And she fell for _John_. 

Monotonous, gray, average _John Winchester_. The “good kid, but I just don’t see him going anywhere.” 

He was a lucky man. 

\-- - -- 

“It’s tomorrow.” 

Her voice was soft, but her hands were calloused against John’s. They were clasped around his, warm and welcoming. Her forehead was pressed against his, and her hair felt soft as it brushed his cheeks. 

“I know,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. 

“You’re going to do something stupid,” she cut right to her point, looking him in the eyes. It wasn’t accusatory, wasn’t judgmental. Just observational. 

“Maybe,” he admitted, sucking in a nervous breath and nodding. “You gonna hate me for it?” 

“No,” she whispered, smiling. “I’ll think you’re an idiot, but I won’t hate you for it.” 

“I’m an idiot anyway,” he grinned. “S’why I have you.” 

They laughed, but John could still the worry in her eyes. She could try to help him out there, but that didn’t mean much. Dauntless was a cruel place – he was pretty much on his own there. Neither of them knew what the initiation would be, but John was confident they’d make it. 

Together. 

\-- - -- 

John’s bad at remembering times when he was panicked. So he doesn’t much remember the day. 

He remembers seeing the five faction leaders in the room. Seeing everyone segregated by faction. Seeing Mary up near the front of the line, while he was near the back. She smiled at him, and he felt steadied by that. 

It took a while for his name to be called, and he was shaky as he walked up to the podium. He gulped as he glanced around the room, his eyes slipping all over like the world was ice and his gaze was a pair of unsteady feet. He couldn’t see his father, but he could feel him – waiting for him to come home that night and make dinner and do the dishes. 

He sliced his hand open on the night, cringing at the pain. He lifted his hand. 

The blood fell on the coals. 

_He had aptitude for Amity._

\-- - -- 

John wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was an adult, with two kids, a beautiful wife, his own house. He was a guard of the city, Mary was a teacher for initiates. 

He’d fallen asleep on the couch. He didn’t know what was happening until he heard a scream. 

When he ran upstairs, Dean was already there, asking what was going on. John grabbed baby Sammy, handed him to his big brother, who was still just a baby himself. 

“Take your brother outside, now, Dean, _go_! Don’t look back!” 

Dean ran out, and John could feel the heat of the fire behind him. He let out a sob before he looked back. 

“Mary, please—” 

The blast of heat pushed him out the door and downstairs. He got outside, scooping up his boys and crying into Dean’s hair.


	2. In General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In general, the boys are happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting out the second chapter (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)
> 
> idk if i'll be able to update during the week, but i'll try!

Sam was eleven when he got his first tattoo. It was a few small words on the inside of his wrist, _vigilias oculi magnus_. He didn’t tell Dean what it meant, but Dean still held onto his other hand while the ink was getting sunk into his skin. 

He wasn’t religious. Not _really_. Not like Amity kids, who held hands in the morning and whispered things to each other. Not like Abnegation, who filed into the boring little crossed-up building every Sunday. But he felt there was a God, one that watched over things and let humans make their own mistakes. It set up the dominoes – they could knock themselves over. Whether or not It judged him, he didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. 

Dean’s fingers always brushed over his wrist after that, like the tattoo was a brand on Sam’s skin that meant he was open for Dean’s affection. A swipe of a brother’s thumb while lips pressed to his temple. Soft words sliding between the sheets where the heat and friction lay. 

Those tiny little words on his wrist, stark black ink against soft white skin – they were roots. Sam was forever labeled as a Dauntless. Even if he left, he’d be known as that kid with the tattoo on his wrist. 

Dean seemed to be pleased with that. He was always worried about Sam; the kid was a monumental flight risk and it just wasn’t migration time just yet. 

\-- - -- 

His next tattoo was two years later, and he got it in tandem with Dean. They couldn’t hold hands, but they grinned at each other from across the room. 

When they healed, it was hard for them not to touch each other’s tattoos. It felt like they’d made a mark on each other, always to be respected and acknowledged. 

It was a thicker root this time, branching out from his core and tangling together with Dean’s tendrils. Dean’s roots have always been shaped like a hand, reaching out for Sam, desperate, clingy little bastards, and Sam let himself be pulled in. 

He let Dean’s hands run over his body, he let his brother curl around him and freeze there until they were growing in and around each other. And, somewhere along the way, Sam fell too far in love to want out. 

\-- - -- 

Sam was a scrawny kid. Skinny and short, compact little body all wrapped up in black and torn jeans and tattoos and scars, stuffed to the brim with intelligence and bravery, mouth flavored like virginal sweetness and clever wit. 

He would never admit it, but he’s cute. He’s got those big eyes that were built to reflect the night sky, to hold every promise of love and admiration; those pretty pink lips that looked like they were made out of candy; that soft hair that smelled of vanilla shampoo and boysweat. 

Maybe Dean was just too in love to see anything but Sam’s incredible beauty. 

He knew his brother didn’t see what he saw, but he couldn’t understand why. Sam looked perfect, every day, no matter if he was wearing a sweatshirt and old jeans or one of those tight-fitting t-shirts or nothing at all, his body was perfect in every way imaginable. 

He wanted to protect Sam. Wanted to keep him safe and unhurt. But he couldn’t do that all the time, he had work during the day. But he came home to Sam making dinner and a sleeping John, and he was convinced that this was how perfect their lives could be. During the night, he wrapped himself up in Sam, tangled himself in gangly limbs and soft hair and sleepy mumbles. 

He tried to fall asleep comfortably, tried to dream of happy things, but his mind was so plagued with thoughts of Sam’s sixteenth year. Sam was the type of kid who could break through chains and grow a pair of wings to escape from binds he didn’t put on himself; if he left, Dean would never see him again except in vague passing. He’d just be a memory in his brother’s pretty little head. And even if he didn’t leave, Dauntless initiation was so tough on a kid. Dean had gone through it himself; and done damn good. But Sammy was different. 

Sammy was his little brother. Baby boy who needed to be shielded from the world, saved from all the evils. _Torn away from the fire._

\-- - -- 

“You know what we could do?” 

Dean glanced over at his little brother’s words, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Sam’s face was always a prettier sight than the boring ceiling hanging over their heads. “What?” 

“I could choose Amity. And you could go with me, and we’d hide out in some little farm somewhere. It’d only be us, you know?” Sam’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, watching the way the streetlights outside played against the black paint. 

“Since when were you the idealist?” Dean mumbled, pressing the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead. “Y’sick or somethin’?” 

Sam laughed, grabbing Dean’s wrist and pulling his hand to his lips. He kissed over Dean’s knuckles, wrapping his too-big fingers around Dean’s. “Just thinkin’.” 

“Y’never _stop_ thinkin’, Sammy. Never knew someone who had so much goin’ on in their head,” Dean flicked Sam between the eyebrows, grinning. 

“You’re a jerk,” Sam huffed, dropping Dean’s hand. But he smiled, turning on his side. His hand slid up Dean’s chest, landing on the tattoo over his brother’s heart. That was home for his wandering hands, his travel-weary gaze. Knowing that there was that constant on his brother’s body, that silent reminder that Dean was still _his_ – it got him through the harder days. 

Dean glanced between Sam’s eyes, his smile fading a bit. “Amity, huh.” 

“I don’t think I was serious about that,” Sam said, returning to his position on his back. “Just a thought.” 

“Bet you’d look cute in red, though,” Dean grinned. 

“Yeah?” Sam looked over with a sly smirk and vivid fox eyes. “You gonna wear a yellow farmer’s shirt and overalls for me?” 

“Just call me Papa Bear, baby boy,” he shot back. 

“You’re gross----”


End file.
